Dog Days
by Marie Hawkins
Summary: The Winchester brothers head back to Missouri to investigate the death of a couple mauled in their own home. They think they know what they're up against, but when the maulings continue, their hypothesis is proven wrong. The clock is ticking. Just a good 'ol hunting fic-let, with plenty of bromance and what have you. Takes place sometime around season 1 or 2.
1. A Case

**A\N:**Hellooo! So I'm a late bloomer. I just started watching SPN about two weeks ago. Honestly, it was one of the best choices I've ever made in my life! Unfortunately, however, that means I haven't quite caught up (I'm working on it- halfway through season 4! Wooo!). So for those of you who ARE caught up... this particular ficlet probably takes place somewhere in the early days of SPN. In all honesty, its just a good old hunting fic. This is my first SPN fic, so hopefully I don't screw things up too bad. I hope I can keep people fairly well in character...

I came up with this idea while I was doing my anthropology reading the other day. So... hopefully no one is too familiar with the supernatural creature I'm going to use. If you are, well, I've tweaked it a little, just so it will make sense with the story, and plus the only research I've done on it was for my anthro class. So I'm not really an expert. :C

So. Read. Review? Let me know your thoughts (especially if there are things you think I could improve!) and what not. Hope I do justice to this fantastic show!

PS- This starts as a flashback thingy... just so you don't read it and wonder where the hell the Winchesters are. C:

* * *

"_Emerson? Sweetheart, it's time for bed," Stephanie Brinson called up the stairs. She found it odd that her four year old had been incredibly quiet for the past few hours. Usually the kid was bouncing off the walls and talking her ear off. Usually, if Emerson was quiet, that meant he was finding some way to get himself into trouble. Her husband, Daniel, was supposed to have been reading to Emerson, but it wouldn't surprise her if Daniel fell asleep instead of Emerson. She sighed and climbed the stairs. She was met halfway by a wide-eyed husband._

"_Daniel?" she asked, panic bubbling in her chest. "What's wrong?"_

"_He's not in his room," Daniel said, panicking. "He's not anywhere upstairs. Please tell me he was downstairs with you."_

"_No," she said, her heart sinking. "I thought you were with him!"_

"_I was!" Daniel cried. "But I… I just blacked out, I guess. I don't really remember much." Daniel continued to rush down the stairs, Stephanie following after him. He flipped on the kitchen light and began searching for a flashlight in one of the drawers._

"_Oh my God," Stephanie breathed as soon as she entered the kitchen. "Daniel, you're bleeding!"_

"_What?" Daniel said, pausing his search. His hand flew to the side of his head where he had a dull pain- a pain which he had ignored until now. His fingers made contact with something wet. His own blood. Realization hit him shortly afterwards. He hadn't blacked out- he was knocked out. He remembered… someone… some_thing…_ He looked over at his panicked wife. "Honey, go lock all the doors and windows." He picked up a slender flashlight from the drawer and headed for the front door._

"_What are you-"_

"_I'm going to find Emerson. Call the police as soon as you've locked everything, okay?" Daniel turned towards the front door._

_The phone rang._

_Daniel froze in his tracks, and Stephanie rushed to answer. It was a blocked number. Usually these blocked callers weren't suspicious. Especially in this town. But given the circumstances…_

"_Hello?" she answered, quickly putting the caller on speaker and walking towards her husband._

"_There's a small package by your front door," the caller said simply. "You're going to want to open it."_

_Daniel opened the door and found that there was, indeed, a package. His name was clearly labeled on it. He brought the package inside and shut the door again quickly. With shaky fingers he struggled to tear open the package._

"_Who is this?" Stephanie asked, directing her attention back to the caller. "Where is our son?"_

"_All in good time, Mrs. Brinson," the caller replied, a smile in his voice. "Now, Daniel, please display the contents of your package."_

_Daniel looked up at his wife. He was worried, puzzled, tired, frightened- so many emotions were running through his head. The contents of the mystery package weren't exactly comforting, either. He hesitated._

"_The sooner you do as I ask, the sooner Emerson returns to you," the voice said impatiently. Shakily, Daniel pulled a gun out of the small box._

"_What do you want?" he asked loudly. "What do you want from us?"_

"_It's not what _I_ want from you. It's what your son _deserves_ from you. He deserves to know you love him."_

"_But he already knows we love him!" Stephanie cried. "Of course he knows. Please, just give him back, we'll do anything!"_

"_Not yet. But you have a chance to prove your love to him," the voice continued in an even tone. Stephanie mouthed the word "cellphone" to her husband. They needed to call for help. They didn't have time to be talking with whoever this was. They needed to save their son._

_Daniel- quickly understanding- placed the gun on the floor and reached for his cell._

"_I wouldn't do that if I were you," the voice cut in quickly. "You see, your son's life depends on your actions, here. If you love him, you'll do as I say. If not, you're not worthy to call yourselves his parents."_

"_Don't hurt him," Stephanie pleaded, sinking to the floor. "Please don't hurt him!"_

"_Like I said, that all depends on you."_

"_What do we have to do?" Daniel asked._

"_The two of you need to walk upstairs to your bedroom," the voice instructed slowly. "I'll give you further instructions when I know you're there. Take the gun."_

_Shakily, Daniel picked up the gun again. He wanted nothing more than to cast it aside. It made him feel increasingly uneasy-like it was a symbol of his end. He stuffed it in the back of his jeans, and walked to his wife's side, helping her to stand, slowly. Stephanie clutched onto him, crying silently, but allowed him to lead her up the stairs._

_Daniel glanced at Emerson's room as they walked past. It seemed untouched. There was no sign of a break in, the window had been locked… everything was in its perfect place, and that made him all the more unnerved. As the Brinson's entered their room, it was immediately apparent that things were out of place. The most obvious was the video camera on a tripod in the center of their room._

"_Smile," the voice from the phone said. "That camera is on, you know."_

"_Enough games," Daniel said, shakily. "We just want to get this over with so we can have our son back. We shouldn't have to prove anything to you in the first place. "_

"_This isn't for me," the voice said again, sharply. "Emerson, why don't you say hello?"_

"_Hello," said a soft voice. Both Daniel and Stephanie instantly recognized it as their son's voice._

"_Oh my God, Emerson? Baby? It's mommy. Are you okay, honey?" She asked, crying harder._

"_I'm okay," Emerson replied. "But I'm scared…"_

"_You're going to be just fine, sweetheart. We're going to find you," Daniel said, trying to soothe his son._

"_I'll give you directions to find your son, but you have a task to complete first," said the voice again._

"_Just tell us where our son is, you bastard!" Stephanie cried._

"_We'll do anything," Daniel said calmly into the phone. He had a sinking feeling that there wasn't really any way to get out of this situation. The only thing they could do was comply. And if it was to save their son, anything was worth it, right? "Tell us what you want."_

"_Parents are supposed to love their children more than anything in the world. More than life itself. If you want to know where your son is, prove it. Kill your wife. You can't cheat your way out of this, either. The camera allows me to see everything that happens- or doesn't happen- in that room."_

"_What?" Daniel asked, losing his composure. "Are you insane? I'm not going to kill my wife!"_

"_But Daniel, you said you'd do anything. You said you loved your son. Isn't this worth it? Isn't death worth it to know your son is safe?"_

"_I'm not going to kill my wife," Daniel said, trying to keep his calm resolve. He reached slowly into his back pocket for his cell. The room was dark- maybe the camera wouldn't pick up his movement if he was slow enough. He just had to stall the caller for a little while longer. He dialed 911. "I can't kill my wife."_

"_But you _can_ call the police even after you've been told not to," the voice sighed. "They'll arrive too late." The line clicked and buzzed. The voice had hung up._

"_Daniel, you should have killed me," Stephanie cried, clutching her husband. "It was for Emerson. I would have died for Emerson!" She was hysterical. Her cries stopped abruptly, however, as scratching could be heard. "The front door," she whispered. Hand in hand, she and Daniel raced down the stairs to their front door, where the scratching was becoming louder and louder. Through the small glass window panel on the door, Daniel and Stephanie could see a large hulking figure. The creature's eyes glistened. It saw them, too. _

_The glass of the front door shattered as the creature hurled itself into the house, growling._

_It was a large, black dog._

* * *

(One Week Later)

"You've had your head buried in the papers for at least an hour," Dean said, sliding back into the booth across from his brother. "Please tell me you've got _something_."

Sam sighed and looked up at his elder brother. He was a little tired. He'd been scouring for something. Anything, really. He'd take another killer clown if it meant they had a job. There had been a lack of supernatural activity- or at least it seemed that way. "I'm not sure," he said slowly. There had been a couple articles that had caught his eye, but nothing was screaming at him. "The best lead we have is a murder down in Missouri," he slid the newspaper across the table for Dean to see.

"Couple found mauled in their home," Dean murmured, reading the headline softly aloud. As his eyes scanned the article briefly, he continued to read some of the words aloud. "Four year old child found at the scene, left unharmed… officials say it was a wild animal…" He looked back up at Sam and shrugged. "I'd say it's worth looking at. I'd rather look at this dead couple than most of the ugly broads in here, anyway." Sam scoffed at his brother's attempt at humor, but gave no argument.

"You sure you're okay rushing into Missouri?" Sam asked as he and Dean walked outside. Sure, they hadn't had a job in Missouri in a while, but that didn't exactly change the fact that Dean was a wanted murderer in the state. "Clarksville isn't too far from Saint Louis," he added, hoping that his warning would urge Dean to be _somewhat_ cautious.

"Well, it's not exactly Saint Louis, though, is it, Sammy?" Dean asked with a smirk as he pulled open the Impala's door. "Besides, I'm sure the fine people of Clarksville will have far more important things on their minds. What do you think this thing is?"

"Honestly?" Sam asked, shutting the side door. "I'm not really sure. The newspaper was pretty vague as far as describing the condition of the bodies. We have a lot of asking around to do on this one."


	2. Dead End

"The Park Service has been down here dozens of times," the Sherriff sighed. "Never did figure out what kind of animal could have mauled the Brinsons. Not that there's much they could do anyway, if you ask me."

"So they couldn't tell what kind of animal attacked?" Sam asked.

"Nah," the Sherriff shrugged. "We do live out in the middle of nowhere, but that doesn't mean animal attacks are commonplace. Most of us are still shocked about it."

"If the Park Service couldn't identify the animal that attacked the Brinsons, have you entertained the possibility of this attack being something _other_ than a mauling?" Dean asked slowly.

"Well, boys, I don't know what to tell you," the Sherriff said, putting his hands on his hips. "Looking at the bodies, I can't say it was anything _but _a mauling. But I've never seen an animal attack as viciously as that."

"You don't mind if we _see _the bodies, do you?" Dean asked.

"Well, _we're _done with them. I suppose you can take a look at them for your article, just don't mess anything up too badly. The coroner still has to finish the reports," the Sherriff responded. He motioned for them to follow him, leading them down several hallways and to the back of the "But to be perfectly honest with you, there's not really much left." He gestured to the morgue door behind him.

"Thanks for your time," Sam smiled, walking towards the morgue door. He checked a- rather short- list and quickly found where the Brinsons' bodies were kept. Bracing himself, he pulled out the two slabs where the Brinson's bodies were being kept. There were several things about this job that Sam didn't really like. Examining heavily mauled bodies was very high on that list. He slowly unzipped one of the bags, and quickly regretted it, unconsciously taking a slight step backwards.

"Delicious," Dean groaned sarcastically, stepping forward for a closer look. "Well, I guess the Sheriff was right. This chick's body is torn to hell," he stared intently at the mass of what honestly resembled raw hamburger with chunks of human organs mixed in. He glanced over at Sam who had opened the other bag. The husband was in the same condition as the wife. "What do you think?" he asked Sam. Dean already had a guess of his own as far as what they were dealing with, he just wanted to be sure. Sam was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was usually never wrong about this kind of thing. It was the dork's specialty.

"Well," Sam sighed. "From what I can tell, all of the organs are here. All of them, except one." He glanced up at Dean grimly. "This attack happened about a week ago, so the moon cycle is right."

"Awesome," Dean grinned. "We get to bag a werewolf!" Sam's expression remained grim, which struck Dean as odd. Sure, Sam didn't always appreciate his humor, but he always got _some _sort of reaction out of the kid. It looked like he was still thinking about something… second guessing himself, even. "What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"It's just… I don't know…Have you ever _seen_ a werewolf attack this violent?" Sam asked, looking down at the bodies. "I mean, usually werewolves tear the chest and take the heart. They leave the rest of their victims pretty well alone. In this case, everything has been shredded- it's just the faces that are mostly untouched."

"So… maybe the werewolf had a bone to pick with these guys," Dean guessed. "I mean, I guess the bastards have feelings too: Rage and more rage."

"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "I guess there's always a way to find out. You got their home address, right?"

* * *

The lock on the Brinson's front door was easily jimmied, giving Sam and Dean full access to the- now empty- crime scene. It would have been a nice looking house, too, if the huge bloodstain wasn't the first thing you saw when you walked in.

"I'm going to have a look upstairs, see if you can find anything useful down here," Dean said, stepping around the huge stain. Even though it was completely dried, it was still very unnerving. He walked quickly up the stairs. Nothing seemed out of place. It looked as though the family had just stepped out the door, and were due to return any minute. Books were on the shelves, curtains were drawn back, and the windows were securely locked. The only room that looked slightly out of place was the master bedroom- there was a destroyed camera, its parts littering the floor. He gathered together the parts of the broken camera into his hand. If he could manage to salvage it- or at least find someone who could- the recorded tape could be useful. As he retreated out of the master bedroom, Dean scanned the walls- there were no signs of scratch marks, so the werewolf hadn't been upstairs at all, and it definitely couldn't have gotten in through the window without breaking it. He sighed.

"There aren't any signs of a break in," Dean said, coming back down the stairs to rejoin his brother. "Other than a mess in the parent's bedroom and the scarlet paint job by the front door, the house looks fine. What did you find down here?"

"Nothing," Sam shrugged. "The place is fine down here too. No broken windows, no bashed in doors, nothing."

"That's kinda weird, isn't it?" Dean asked, laughing a little. Sam stared intently at the bloodstained floor for a moment longer before he responded.

"Yeah, unless the werewolf was already _inside_ the house," he said softly.

"That article said the Brinsons had a kid, right?" Dean asked slowly.

"Whoa, wait," Sam said, glancing up quickly. "You think the kid did this? I was thinking more along the lines of, maybe they had a dinner guest who had other plans for dinner." He was not quite ready to jump on his brother's "kid- werewolf theory" bandwagon.

"Well weirder things have happened, right?" Dean asked, shrugging. Honestly it was the only lead they had. "Besides, he's the only family member that was left alive. And last time I checked, werewolves weren't exactly experts at picking locks." There was a slight pause that was quickly filled with a long sigh from Sam. "It's not going to hurt to check, Sammy," feeling a little defensive. Sure, Sam was right to think he was jumping the gun on this one, but it was a logical conclusion, wasn't it?

"Alright," Sam said standing up. "Where is the Brinson kid now?" he asked, pulling open the front door. "The paper didn't say."

"Yeah, but it did say the neighbors found the bodies. Maybe the kid is staying with them. In a community this small it's not entirely unfeasible," Dean suggested, walking down the steps of the house. "And even if he's not, it wouldn't hurt to ask around. See if the Brinsons had any enemies."

* * *

"Hello," greeted a cheery woman. "Can I help the two of you?"

"Yes I think you can," Dean said, flashing a brilliant smile. "I'm Darren and this is my brother, Ramone. We're social workers for the Brinson child."

"Oh, well, I just spoke with Emerson's social worker not more than two hours ago," said the woman, looking slightly puzzled. "Is there a problem with the paperwork?"

"We're not in charge of anything other than counseling sessions," Sam cut in smoothly.

"Yep, we've, uh, come to console young Emerson," Dean added, awkwardly.

"Of course," the woman said, pulling the door open wider and allowing Sam and Dean to enter. "I should have assumed Child Services would be sending counselors. Emerson's past few days have been pretty rough." She shut the door behind them. "I'm Evelynn, by the way," she said, offering her hand. "Evelyn McCants."

"The pleasure is ours, Ms. McCants," Dean said, shaking her hand.

"Is Emerson at home?" Sam asked, cutting Dean off before he made too much of a fool out of himself.

"Emerson, can you come down sweetie?" Evelyn called up the stairs. "You've got some friends to come and see you!" Small quick footsteps could be heard running in the direction of the stairs. A short, curly haired boy appeared at the top of the stairs, beaming. He lightly bounded down the stairs, stopping just in front of Sam and Dean. "Emerson, this is Darren and Ramone. They've come to spend some time with you," Evelyn said, running her fingers gently through Emerson's curls.

"Hi, Emerson," Dean greeted, bending down to the child's eye level.

"Ms. McCants, do you mind if we have a few words in private? I have some questions I need to ask you about Emerson's behavior," Sam said, keeping his voice low.

"Of course," Evelyn said. "Emerson, why don't you take Darren into the living room and show him your train set, okay?" The curly haired boy quickly obeyed, leading Dean into another room. Evelyn sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Just the basics. How he's holding up, if there have been any signs of strange behaviors, anything you have noticed that might be unnatural," Sam said, as casually as possible.

"Emerson really is a good boy," she said softly. Her eyes looked sad. "Considering what has happened he's taking it really well. I guess he just doesn't really understand everything that has happened. He acts fine during the day, but he gets these awful nightmares." She paused and bit her lip. "Do you think they'll go away? I mean, he's young enough to where his parents' death will affect him, but you don't think it's going to be a permanent thing, do you?"

"Nightmares? About his parents?" Sam asked. Evelyn nodded. "How often?"

"They keep him up most of the night. If I'm lucky, I can get him to sleep for about an hour," She shrugged. "Before too long it's going to start wearing on the poor kid. I don't want him to be traumatized for life."

"Then, you're with him in the evenings?" Sam asked slowly. The kid werewolf theory was slowly starting to fall apart. He was glad of this, yet at the same time incredibly disappointed. There was absolutely nothing to go off of.

"My husband and I trade off every few hours," she said.

"Do you know if the Brinsons had any guests over on the night they were killed?" Sam asked, hesitantly. He hoped to God she said yes. He couldn't deal with a dead end.

"I- Um, what does this have to do with Emerson?" She asked, slightly confused.

"Just getting all the information," Sam said, flashing a reassuring smile. Evelyn thought for a moment before responding.

"I can't be one hundred percent sure," she said, beginning slowly. "But I'm pretty sure they were alone that night. No one came and visited or anything. The Brinsons were nice people; they just liked to keep to themselves, for the most part."

"Does anyone in the community have a particular distaste for the Brinson family?" Sam asked. Evelyn gave him another skeptical look- he was really pushing his luck with this one. "I just want to make sure that Emerson is safe, not a potential target," he said as smoothly as possible.

"The police don't even have a human suspect. It was an animal attack," she said, starting to become slightly defensive.

"The police informed us that the investigation is still ongoing," Sam said. "Please. I just want to check."

"I can't think of anyone," Evelyn sighed. "People here are just friendly with everyone. We all know each other, most of us have known each other our whole lives," she said. "Everyone loved the Brinsons."

"Thank you," Sam said, earnestly. "That's all we need for now. We're very sorry to bother you."

"It's no bother," Evelyn said, softly. She crossed her arms, and glanced at Emerson. He was engrossed in showing his train set to Dean, chatting away about the different trains and their functions and personalities. "It's just good to know that Emerson is being looked out for. My husband and I can't do everything."

"You're doing plenty," Sam said softly. "Not many people I know would step up to the plate and take on this much responsibility."

The two of them walked into the living room, observing Dean and Emerson for a moment longer. Dean looked up as Sam and Evelyn wandered into the living room. He stood.

"Darren and Ramone have to go now, sweetie," Evelyn said, addressing Emerson. The child's grin fell ever so slightly. "But don't worry, they'll come back to visit you, okay?"

"Like tomorrow?" Emerson asked.

"As soon as we can, buddy," Dean said, giving the small child a grin. "I promise." Evelyn walked with Sam and Dean back to her front door.

"Again, thanks for everything," Sam said, as he pulled the door open. "We're going to do all that we can to make sure that Emerson gets the help that he needs." Sam and Dean started out the front door.

"Oh, will you do me a favor?" Evelyn called, turning towards Sam. "The next time the police department sends you an update on the case, tell them it would be unwise to keep me out of the loop. Just a little piece of friendly advice for them," she said, winking before she closed the door.

"I'm going to ignore the fact that a married woman just _winked_ at you and remain strictly professional," Dean said, a small laugh in his voice. "What did you find out? Other than the fact that she's _clearly_ got something for you?"

"Well, I think we're back to square one," Sam sighed, ignoring his brother's quips. "Evelyn says she's up all night taking care of Emerson. He has nightmares. There's no way he could be a werewolf. _And_ she says she's fairly certain the Brinsons didn't have guests that night."

"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically, kicking at the ground in frustration before he pulled open the door to the Impala.


End file.
